


Blackstone

by StripeVerse



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, dreamnotfound if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripeVerse/pseuds/StripeVerse
Summary: The group has been working hard on making a potion house, and Dream wanted to help out! Turns out, the nether fortress had other plans, and Dream gets in over his head...
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Blackstone

**Author's Note:**

> just a little side note, this doesn't really follow any sort of universe. i've had one in my head on the down low, and this is kinda just a little one shot for it.

This was almost entirely Dream’s fault

The team had all been working ridiculously hard on their project. It was supposed to be a massive effort of making potion after potion, for later use. Things like selling them for profit, using in battle, that sort of thing. There was a war that was teetering on the edge of beginning, and they had to be prepared. 

But, potions needed materials. Of course, nether wart, glowstone dust, and most importantly, blaze rods. You had to have them for the stands, for power, for everything brewing. The team had a wart farm, and they had been working ever-so-diligently on the building to hold everything. Because of course they had been.

So, Dream being Dream, did the only thing he could think of to help. He wasn’t terrible at building, but with so many people already working on it, he figured that he could go gather resources needed for the actual brewing of the potions. Most importantly, the rods.

Blaze rods came easy to him, usually. He could get in and get out of the Nether in what felt like the blink of an eye with plenty of rods. Not as many as they would need, but enough to get a good start. 

Dream had gone in prepared, too. Plenty of gear, weapons, food. Everything he thought he needed. It was his usual set up. Nothing out of the ordinary, he thought. He had stepped through the portal without telling anyone of his whereabouts, thinking that he could surprise everyone with the gift of resources. He wasn’t about to let everyone down.

The Nether was as it usually was, with the fortress in mind being farther away than expected. He had forgotten to leave tracks, which was his first mistake. He wrote down the coordinates, though, not like it would’ve helped him in the end. It didn’t matter all too much.

Once he had arrived at a fortress, he got to work camping at the blaze spawner. Everything so far was going wonderfully, all according to plan and practice. Skill and strategies. That’s all there is to it.

Of course, things can take a wrong turn, though.

Dream found himself sitting close to the spawner, but not quite close enough for anything to spot him, taking a short reprieve from battling. He had debated making a new sword and shield, as they seemed to be close to breaking, but he decided against it. He didn’t have any iron on him, nor wood, and he didn’t feel like trying to raid the whole fortress just to get some. So, he would fight until he couldn’t anymore, and then head back home. He had already gotten himself a ridiculous amount of blaze rods, anyways. The team was bound to be happy with the efforts no matter how early he had to leave. 

He sighed, getting up and cracking his neck sharply. The pop hurt for a small moment before calming down, and he shook himself off, grabbing a hold of his sword and walking back towards the spawner.

Or, he thought, anyways. 

He heard the clatter of iron hitting the floor below him, and the brick he was standing on crumbled under the unstable weight. He impulsively clenched as he fell to the floor below himself, planning his next move. He turned himself around mid-fall as if to grab his sword, only to find the holster absent. He looked up to see it was lodged in the hole in the now ceiling, blocking it off. He rushed to grab his shield, finding himself too late in his gesture. He hit the ground forcefully, hearing the shield crack and shatter under his weight.

He had no weapons, no protection, and barely any food; definitely not enough to get him home with full health. 

He flipped his hand open, the band on his wrist flashing brightly. Everyone had one of the bands. They showed your health, displayed in hearts. The max was ten, each divided into two. He had six full hearts left.

He sighed, standing up and rubbing his now probably bruised back. He took this as a cue to leave.

Dream treaded lightly around the corners of the fortress, trying to find the exit. He knew the longer he walked for, the harder this would be. He continuously sighed. Dream could do this. For his team.

Lost in his own thought, he hadn’t even realized the corner he had just turned until he bumped into the backside of a wither skeleton. The monster turned its body around, dragging his long stone sword behind itself, the noise ringing in Dream’s ear. He cringed, drawing his pickaxe as the only weapon he had. He felt somewhat confident in himself… 

Up until he looked behind the skeleton.

His heart raised to his throat at the sight of a whole swarm of withers and normal skeletons.

All of which had their hollowed eye sockets locked directly at him.

Dream turned on his heel and ran.

He ran as fast as his legs could take him until he was left wheezing in the efforts. He turned to look behind him, taking in a deep, shaky breath as he found himself still being followed, and at quite a rapid rate.

He turned around again, and took about two steps before an arrow whizzed by his head, slicing through his hair. His body jolted, and he missed a step, tumbling to the ground. His mind was filled with panic as he rolled over, clutching his pickaxe like a lifeline. 

The monsters didn’t hesitate to surround him, the skeletons with their horrible aim threatening to actually land a blow. The wither skeletons paraded around him, and he had to duck and roll to avoid the sword’s unrelenting blows. He could nearly taste the withering poison on each of their blades as they came down to strike him. There weren't many options of escape, being surrounded on full sides without much of a weapon. 

That was where he made the worst mistake of the day.

He grabbed his precious pickaxe, reeling it back over his head and chucking it in the direction of one of the skeletons. The monster’s bow clicked and shot a blow aimed scarily accurate to him. The arrow intercepted one of the wither’s swords. It ricocheted off of the blade, bouncing from one to another, as if it was a planned attack. It might as well have been, as it managed to land directly in the crook of his arm and torso. 

Dream hissed and growled in pain, feeling the residue from the poison seep into his skin. He heard another squeal of metal on brick, and he instinctively moved his arm to shield, even though the item wasn’t there. The sword, thankfully, was more blunt than he expected, and it wasn’t strong enough to break anything. Though, it did leave a nasty mark, and he felt the warm blood secreting down his elbow. 

He moaned, quickly diving his hand into his pocket trying to find something, _anything_ , that would help. He felt another arrow, surely doused in poison all the same, graze over his leg.

Something cold met his hand. It was light, almost like air, but there was a certain solidity to it. He gripped it tight, pulling it from his pocket. He didn’t even bother to look if it was right, taking the ball and chucking it out the window hole behind himself. He prayed to whatever god there was that he was right.

And, much to his surprise, he was.

He felt the world shift around him, and he almost full-on collided with the mountain of netherrack, tumbling down the side. He grabbed onto the side of it with as much strength as he could muster, his hands straining and bleeding with the effort. He bit his tongue, trying to scream in pain as he steadied himself and lowered himself to the floor of the Nether.

But it wasn’t over yet.

He looked down to his shoulder, breathing heavily as he gripped tightly at the base of the arrow, closest to his skin. He counted to three, closing his eyes and tearing the arrow out of his skin. His eyes watered, and he bit down on his thumb in order to not scream. He threw the dastardly thing into the lava pool close by before taking out the handful of bread from his bag. He shakily started to eat, hoping that no other monsters would find him here. He flipped up his band again, finding it was at three hearts. The symbols were a ashy black color, signifying he was withered.

This was going to be a long trip home.

He carefully stood up, pulling up the coordinates to the portal, and began to slowly limp in its direction. It was incredibly slow going, and thankfully there weren’t any other monsters out to get him as he walked. Incrementally, he had to stop and eat to make sure that he could scale any jumps he begrudgingly had to do. And very, very painfully, might he add. He had started to get concerned, as a normal wither effect would have been long gone by now, but this one seemed to stick around and progressively get worse.

He saw the portal in his sight, and sighed of relief. He began to take off his gloves, adjusting his mask around his face. The most dangerous thing in the Nether had to be the heat blasting you in the face, and his hands felt dry and cracked from using them to guide himself.

He undid the belts and slid off the gloves, only to find himself horrified by what he found underneath.

His hands were black, the color of blackstone. Around his joints, it looked as if they were made of gravel. For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from starting to shake. He uncovered the wound from the arrow shot, only to find it looking identical, the wound still open and pulsing angrily. He cringed at the sight, sighing in defeat. He checked his band. It remained at three hearts, still coated in that ashen color. 

“What the hell?” he said to himself. He shakily breathed out, gathering himself and abandoning his gloves to go through the portal.

On the other side, it was night time.

He had begun to regret his decision to make the portal far away from the base, so it would truly be a surprise. He reached into his food pouch, only to find it empty. He looked down at his hands again, finding the effects spreading.

They felt cold to the touch, and incredibly fragile. But on the inside, they felt like they were on fire, burning his nerves right out of his body. Judging by the way his legs were holding him up, he assumed they looked the same. He checked his band again. Two and a half.

He shivered. He pulled a torch from his bag, lighting it to see. The warmth of the glow felt wonderful against his clammy skin, and he happily absorbed the feeling.

It felt like hours of walking. He had dropped down to only one heart. His whole body was shaking with the effort of walking through the endless forest. At some point, he had lost all of the feeling in his arms and legs, and his cheeks were slowly starting to feel ashy as well. He felt absolutely frigid and like an inferno at the same time.

Is this what death feels like?

He felt his legs collapse under his own weight, and he leaned up against a tree, sinking down to the forest floor.

He was going to die here, wasn’t he? All because he dropped his stupid pickaxe.

He’d lost all of his weapons. The only thing he had left was the thirty two blaze rods that he _had_ to make sure reached his team. They had to win this war, they _needed_ the rods. More than they needed him. At least, he thought so.

Dream coughed roughly into the air, watching his breath turn grey and fade away. It must have reached his lungs. He tried to focus on breathing, but his mind wandered.

He was going to die here. With the rods on him.

No, he couldn’t just sit here. He had to get the rods to his team. They needed them.

He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t function. Fine. Then he would crawl. He fell forwards and began to use the last of his strength to pull himself forwards, shoving his wounds into the dirt. He had completely abandoned his torch.

Everything, _everything_ , hurt. No, it didn’t just hurt. It was _torture_. Pure torment. There wasn’t a fiber of his being that didn’t feel like a match being dragged across the ground. He felt as if a gust of wind would hit him and he would crumble away into it. He honestly wished that would happen.

His vision was entirely blurred, the edges of his eyes growing dark, the same blackstone ash color that everything was turning. He sputtered and coughed roughly onto the ground, shaking his whole body and causing it to spark into a flame of agony. 

He couldn’t stop the tears anymore.

Through his blurry vision, he saw the smallest little glow in the distance. He was right there, he could make it, _come on, Dream, you’re almost there. You can get the rods to them, you just have to keep going-_

He reached out, clawing desperately at the ground whimpering and mentally begging for his body to move, to slide across the gravel and inch closer to the light at the end of the tunnel. It was getting brighter and more intense, coming closer and closer though his body wasn’t going anywhere. His hands scrambled against the ground, tearing themselves apart. He kept chanting the only thing he could think of, some sort of last chance, hopeful constellation of words.

_Your team needs the loot, Dream. You have to keep going, Dream._

_Come on, keep going, Dream. Your team needs this. They need the loot. They need the rods, you have to keep going, D-_

“-REAM!”

There was a scream that was almost bloody murder, if it weren’t for how everything sounded like he was swimming in lava.

“Dream! Holy shit, what the hell happened to you? Dream! Dream? _Clay!”_

Dream moaned into the ground, feeling rough hands grab him by his shoulders and hoist him up off the ground like he was a ragdoll. His head lolled to the side, barely being held up at all. One of the hands checked his band.

Half a heart.

_Half a fucking heart._

“Dream, where were you? What the hell were you thinking?”

Dream shakily moved his head to face the man holding him upright.

“George.” he said, his voice barely even a whisper.

“Yes, I’m here, Dream. You’re gonna be ok, just hold on, ok? Bad’s on his way wit-”

Dream let his hand fall on his nearly empty bag. “I got something.”

“Dream, what the hell are you talking about? What happened? Did you go to the Nether? What did you do?” George practically yelled at him. Dream’s eyes remained unfocused and unmoving.

“Open it. It’s a surprise.” Dream’s voice sounded like he had been smoking for his entire life, and he slurred his words like he was white girl wasted.

“Dream, seriously-”

“Open it.”

George sighed, making sure that Dream would sit up by himself, before grabbing the bag. It was incredibly lightweight, nearly empty, he thought.

He didn’t have time for this, he needed to get Dream home.

He opened the bag, per request, to find the thirty two blaze rods inside.

“Dream.”

“I helped.”

George shook his head, scoffing. “Yeah, you did. But what happened, Clay?” He asked, looking him dead in the eye.

“I got the rods for the potions.”

George sighed. “No, I mean,” He put the bag down, holding onto Dream again, “How did you get like this?”

“Got shot by an arrow with ‘er on it.” Dream managed to get out. He closed his eyes, leaning into George’s hold. “I’m gonna die, I think.”

“No! No no no, not at all. Bad’s on his way with a regeneration potion, we’re gonna get you better, I promise. It’s gonna be ok.” George rambled. 

“Ok…” Dream responded. He dropped his head down again. He didn’t have the strength to pick himself up anymore, and he almost fell onto George, who caught him and laid him down on his lap.

He felt his breathing shallow even more, letting himself slip away.

He did it, he got the rods to his team. He could rest now, right?

“Stay awake, Dream, please. Just a little bit longer, I promise. Just hold on, please Dream.” George said, keeping a tight grip on his upper arm. _“We’re over here, Bad!”_ He heard him shout. His head spun with the noise, and he groaned in response. “Sorry, bro.” George said, shushing him and running a hand through his hair. He tried to stop him - he felt so brittle, like he could break - but he couldn’t find the strength to raise his voice.

“Found you- oh my god!” Another voice caught Dream’s attention. It was higher pitched than George’s but still male. He opened his eyes, not realizing that he had ever closed them. He found a bottle right in front of him, dimly glowing with a pink liquid sloshing inside of it, presumably from being put on the ground. 

Next to it, there was another person, if he could even call him that. His skin was void black, his eyes a glossy white. He knew those horns, fang, tail anywhere.

“What on Earth happened?” Bad asked, reaching out to put a hand on his chest. Dream winced at the touch, not because it hurt, but because of his anxiety rising. He shakily looked at his band, and it glowed to show he was still at half a heart. He could see Bad’s face drop.

“Dream, hun,” at any other time, Dream would have melted at the pet name, “Do you think you can sit up?”

Dream opened his mouth, coughing out a cracked response. “With help.”

“Well, duh.” George said, grabbing a gentle hold under Dream’s arms, careful to avoid the pulsing wound from the arrow. He slowly pushed Dream up as he put his arms out underneath him. He was worried that George wouldn’t be able to hold him, considering the size difference, but he managed just fine. Maybe Dream was really withering away… Maybe it wasn’t just a small deal after all.

He mentally shook himself from the thought, letting George and Bad roll him onto his back. He groaned, getting harshly reminded of the fall through the ceiling of the fortress. The other two immediately stopped.

“It hurts…”

“I know, hun, take it slow.” George said, stroking his hair again. He sighed, moaning again before going to sit himself up further. George took hold of his arms again, helping him to lay back on his chest. He wrapped his arms around the other, holding him close, for comfort. He couldn’t even tell if it was for Dream’s or his. Both, probably.

Dream nearly moaned again as the heat wrapped around his body, and he leaned into George’s body. He would have nuzzled his face into his chest if his neck didn’t hurt so damn bad. Everything hurt so _damn bad._

The sound of a cork brought him out of his thoughts again. Bad kneeled next to him, holding the potion in his hand. Dream’s blurred eyes could still figure out that it was a regeneration potion. And it wasn’t a splash. Splash potions had bottles that shattered easily and the gunpowder that helped it ‘splash’ made it shimmer. His pupils dilated.

Healing potions and regeneration potions were two different beasts. Healing potions were usually used post-battle. They tasted of cherries, and healed quickly so they didn’t cause that much pain. However, they were more expensive, using gold that they needed for exchanging and trading. They were running low as it was on gold, they didn’t need to spare any.

Regeneration potions were cheap. All you needed was a spider eye to get it to work. Or better yet, just make a golden apple, and the job gets done. But, like the healing potions, they needn’t spare any of the gold right now. And, because of the spider eye, they tasted incredibly bitter, almost repulsive sometimes. They healed slower, and _god_ were they painful. But, if you used them during battle, especially in splash form, the negatives were drowned out by adrenaline. 

Currently, Dream was out of that. And that bottle was not in the shape of a splash.

His stomach was already about to flip as Bad asked, “do you think you can drink this?”

He wanted to shake his head no, he really wanted to. He wanted to bolt out George’s comforting arms and go get gunpowder to make it a splash, and curl up on the couch.

He nodded.

“I can try.”

“Alright.” Bad smiled softly and handed the bottle off. Dream took it and sighed out shakily. He held his breath before grabbing hold of George’s arms and leaning his head back and putting the bottle to his lips.

The first drop, and he already felt like he was going to cough. He managed to chug down half the small bottle before gagging, giving up and dropping the bottle in his lap. The liquid spilled onto the fabric of his pants, and he could feel it seep into his skin. 

He could still taste the bitter, burning residue of the potion down his throat, no matter what he tried to do to swallow it. He coughed roughly, feeling George pat his back, making him gag once again. He quickly and shakily leaned over on hands and knees, wheezing harshly against the grass. Dream could quickly feel the other two trying to help him, but his senses were consumed by the nausea and the overwhelming pain that sparked and branded his muscle. His hearing and vision blurred out of his mind as he felt himself vomit a thick black liquid and tumble to the side quickly. The fall ignited the torment, and he yelled out in agony, not being able to hear or control himself anymore. Once he found himself screaming, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t feel anything, he couldn’t hear anything, save for pure, agonizing, tormenting pain.

The last thing he saw was his band, lighting up to reveal something he never thought he would see.

One, happily bouncing, pink heart.

Birds were chirping outside the window. Dream took in a breath, savoring the way his chest rose and fell without feeling a thing.

He was laying on his stomach, he figured. He moved his arms the stretch, finding relief in doing so. He looked to his hands, amazed to find them the same color as the rest of his skin. 

Dream smiled happily. It was like he was George, seeing color for the first time.

George… 

God, he needed to thank him. He was the one who saved his ass. Well, him and Bad, but Bad was probably busy building the potion shop, as he was. He wondered if the rods ever made it back to the group.

He pushed himself up, taking in how sturdy it felt. Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, he stood up and stretched the rest of his body out. He sighed happily, looking himself over in the mirror. 

He didn’t have a shirt on and his skin was tanned. All that remained was the splotchy scar where the arrow once was.

Dream smiled.

He heard his door open and he turned on his heel to see George standing in the doorway.

“Thought I’d never see you again.” Dream said. 

That was all it took for George to come barreling towards him, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in Dream’s chest. Dream wrapped his arms around the smaller, pulling him close.

“Thank you.” He said, simply.

“Don’t you _ever_ do that again, do you hear me?” George said, muffled by his face being buried in his chest. Dream didn’t need to look to tell that he was crying.

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good.” George said. He pulled back from the hug, but still kept his hands on his waist. “What exactly happened?”

Dream sighed. “I wanted to surprise the team and get blaze rods for the brewing stands, but… I got trapped.” he winced at the memory. He could tell it was going to last, and not pleasantly. “A bunch of wither skeletons. And normal ones. I got shot with an arrow and I guess it had wither on it.”

George’s face fell, and he grimaced in anger. It wasn’t directed at Dream, he knew, but probably at the monsters that hurt him. He would have laughed if he didn’t feel like crawling in a hole to avoid the anxiety. 

He kept talking. “But, uh, I threw a pearl out and fell down a mountain.” George ran a hand up and down his back now, as if to ask if that’s how he got hurt. He nodded. “And then I tried to go home with no food.”

“Oh, Dream…” George replied softly.

“Did the rods ever make it home?”

“They did, their being used. But, Dream, please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t, George.”

“I don’t wanna lose you-”

“I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. I promise, George.”

“Ok…” George hesitated, but in the end, he leaned up against him again.

Dream returned the hug without hesitation.

_Promise._


End file.
